


Da Capo - From Top

by Cheshire137Hatter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Missing Scene, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshire137Hatter/pseuds/Cheshire137Hatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young man who suddenly apears out of no where is anything but a relief, John thinks. But he can't help but to be grateful that this seemingly carefree young man fills up a hole inside his heart after the death of his best friend. However, is this young man really as safe as he preteneds to be? Or there is a dark secret hidden behind those sad, bright eyes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Fur Elise

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a challenge between me and Hatter-kun about that I can't write a proper fanfiction that doesn't have any slash or lemons and I can't have a plot. So me and Hatter-kun decidede to write this story. And since Hatter-kun started he/she should write the prelogoue. >:)
> 
> The character of my hero in this story is actaully a real person, so all of the stupid quircks and strange habits are TRUE!

It was a dark night, no stars shining. It was as dark as the young man’s eye, deep dark that there was no colour. His eyes had no light. The twilight wasn’t far away. He was inviting it by the smoke of his cigarette dancing in the morgue, to become delusional, to not recognise the sheep from the wolf, to unleash his carefully hidden claws and teeth. Oh, he loved to play the prey. He wanted everyone to think he was the sheep passing by the people, innocent, harmless. But the people who tasted the venom of his anger knew much better than trusting him. But he didn’t care, because deep down…?

It was supposed to be a good façade; no one saw it through him. He played with the role well. ‘The man who knew everything’, ‘the most dangerous man the world had seen’… titles after titles were rubbing his pride that he mastered to fool everyone. Therapists failed to diagnose him, politics feared him, and people despised him. It was all going so well, until one day, just one day, he closed his eyes and he never realised they were closed until now. It was too late right now. He inhales the smoke, doesn’t care that it is the first time he smokes, that he shouldn’t smoke something this strong, that his ‘greatest rival’ smoking beside him – he says nothing and his mask is plain but the smoke plays the symphony of his concern as if he plays the violin he loves so much- looking absently inside the morgue while it’s filled with darkness to the brim, wants to offer him a comfort that is spoken by the language of the burning smell of Tabaco.

There are few people cry, weep, and mourn over their lost people. He doesn’t cry, he has no reason to. It happened because he was careless and blind. That was an error he must make sure not to be repeated ever again. Yet, behind that stone face, behind those dark eyes, behind the smoke that flows around him to engulf him with its dazing haze, his chest was tight, he couldn’t breathe, his heart wasn’t working the way it supposed to be, clenching and tugging so hard that made him grimace.

“I knew I shouldn’t have given you a high tar. You’re still a beginner.”

He glanced at his rival. The pain tugging in his chest wasn’t because of the cigarette. He knew what it was, he read what it was. The irony of the books he always made fun off. He was the new hero of another clumsy written story. He smirked at the man beside him. The man knew but he acted otherwise. There was no need to correct him if he wanted to introduce it as the Tabaco stealing his breath away.

“The first and the last, I figured I should try the best.”

“But are you capable of bearing the best?”

He snorted and ignored him puffing a cloud into the air and watched with fascination as it dissolved into the air. The smokes never ceased to amaze him. He always loved watching them, because they meant there was a fire. Now, the fire was burning inside him, and he watched the smokes that were the evidence of his phenomena. How did it start? He wonders, because everything is so blurred.

“Hello.”

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“I’m here because I need to interview with you. My paper is interested.”

“I’m not.”

“But I am. Let’s have dinner.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“Then let’s have chat.”

“Not interested.”

“Then let’s meow like cats!”

“I’m- what?!”

“See? It’s easy to have a chat!”

He can’t remember the after. He never remembers the after. Just suddenly there was a ring in his hand, suddenly there were vows to be made, suddenly he had an arch-enemy who wanted to play with him, suddenly he was interested to play the game too, suddenly he got attached, suddenly there was nothing left.

“What happened there?”

What happened? Nothing happened. It was the newest stage of the game he and his arch-enemy played. He was waiting to play it for so long.

“Where?”

There was no need to tell him about the game. It was his. There were only two players in the game. The rest were bonus cards.

“The cottage that exploded.”

He still remembers the heat that licked him before throwing him inside the lake, safe from its rage. He was still dripping.

“I got wet.”

He just stated the fact. There was no need to tell anything more than that.

“There was a lake, obviously.”

He snorted. Of course there was a lake. If there wasn’t a lake he wouldn’t be smoking here. What a dull world must be, a world without him.

“Hardly a difficult deduction.”

He says with amusement because mocking is all he has now. He feels so empty that he never thought he was filled with nothingness any more than this.

“Why did the cottage explode?”

He looked at the man beside him. The man silently searched his eyes. There was no sentiment between, there never was a sentiment. They both knew it would cause nothing but losing. Yet, the smoke was a language that the man beside him offered his comfort for him, how miserable he must be. He suddenly needed to sit down. He went to the cheap plastic chairs and sat down.   
Why did the cottage explode?

***

He walked to the rendezvous point.  What a place to meet. His arch-enemy chose the place well. Such a starry night and a full moon gazing down on him to offer the only light he needed to start the new stage of the game.

There he stood beside the cottage. His silver suit and light blue tie where shining beneath the moonlight. There was a soft smile gracing his features. His glasses’ golden frame was shining around his eyes royal blue eyes. His sandy hair was being caressed by the soft cool breeze coming from beside the lake.

“Good evening.”

He said politely, still smiling softly. Had he not know what the man had done in his life, he would have thought he was nothing but a romance writer came to have inspiration from the Mother Nature.

“Good evening.”

He replied, standing with a bit distance in front of the man. The breeze was caressing him with its cool hand.

“You don’t look very surprised.”

The man in front of him stated with a curious smile. He smiled back. Ah, he was anticipating this. How long has he been dreaming about this meeting? The rush of blood in his veins, the excitement of his heart beating against his ribcage, the wonderful surge of Adrenaline that was spreading all over his body… it was all what he wanted since this game started.

“I don’t find anything surprising.”

The man in front of him chuckled with delight. He started to pace around and looking fondly at the scenery around him.

“What do you think about the place I picked up? It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The young man spans around and flashed him with a smile, walking with the grace of a king around his kingdom. His face was innocent, childish and bright. But he knew better than trusting the man, the look is deceiving after all.

“Sunflowers, the flowers that make you smile without any reason, you told me once.”

He was walking around with grace, glancing at him every once in a while. He said nothing. He waited for the man’s speech to come to an end. The sand of anticipation was running down his fingers with an alluring hiss.

“But I want to give you a reason… to love it more or detest it with your heart.”

“And how will you offer your reason, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The young man ran a hand through his sandy hair, ruffling it slightly. His face had a wide smile coloured with so much coldness that made a shiver run down his spine. He suppressed it and kept his icy mask, regarding the young man’s movements as if he had nothing to care about all.

His eyes took around him, a field of sunflowers, a lake, a cottage and the black knight filled with little white holes. There was nothing dangerous but he couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable. The breeze was still caressing him with its cold hands.

“You’ve became domestic.”

He looked back at the man sharply, regarding him with bewilderment. What did he mean?

“I cannot follow.”

The man shook his head and looked exasperated.

“That’s what I mean. You’re becoming ordinary.”

He frowned. They both agreed that they had enough level of intellect to challenge one another. However, never had been a day where his Enemy had insulted him like this.

“I cannot see how you do find me ordinary, dear Charles.”

The young man snorted and moved toward the window. He opened it and grabbed a music box. He put it down and started to work with it.

“Let’s play the game, you’ll understand my point.”

He said as he picked up a vinyl record and put it inside the old music box. He adjusted it and then he held all of his administration.

“What game do you wish to play to celebrate our eventful meeting?”

He mocked and smiled smugly at the young man. The young man’s eyes shone brighter and a wide smile graced his face.

“Oh, it will be eventful. Let’s play ‘guess what this music indicates to’.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at the man whom his smile grew wider. His mind was warning him, something was about to happen. It must be. It always happened.  
Suddenly the music filled his ears, so familiar. He looked at the man quizzically.

“What do you think?”

The man’s innocent mask fell away to show a glimpse at his criminal nature. Those eyes were filled so much hatred and vengeance, God knew what would happen if he let it unleash.

“It’s Beethoven’s symphony, Fur El-…”

Suddenly it downed on him. The realisation hit him hard that his legs nearly buckled underneath him. His blood turned to ice, cold sweat covered his body. His heart was screaming in his ears and he felt himself in a dark and silent limbo.

“You’re still sharp, that’s good.”

The young man stated with a satisfied smirk. The last traces of innocent went away and the monster behind the mask came out to show its glory.

“You can’t be doing this.”

He felt his face cold but piercing hot needles rain across it. His voice was barely above the whisper.

“I am.”

The young man frowned and started to pace.

“She takes your attention; she lowers you to become ordinary. She must have been stopped. I needed you to pay attention to me. You weren’t focusing on the game anymore.”

He felt his blood suddenly boiling up through his veins; the soothing music of the piano only flared him up more.

“But there’s no reason to involve her in this!”

He snapped angrily, he felt furious. He turned to walk toward his car until the other man stopped him.

“You know how it works. She wouldn’t be alive after the end of the symphony, no use to go back.”

The young man said softly and casually, like they were talking about the weather. He turned back and looked at the other man’s cold expression. He shivered slightly and felt his muscle lost the power to hold him as he thought about what the man said.

“You were going to be a father. Shame, it won’t happen.”

The man talked with icy tone, his eyes dead. He couldn’t help but to feel nausea spreading. He swallowed thickly.

“You’ll thank me for this one day.”

The man continued as he started to pace away. Then he looked back.

“You can enjoy the end of symphony with her if you want.”

And he started back pacing, not looking back anymore. Suddenly he realised what the man meant. He looked at the music box with panic; it was only thirty seconds   
left. He knew the symphony well enough that he could play it with his eyes closed. He looked around himself. His brain was completely distracted; his enemy played this one well. He had to struggle to keep himself alive and even if he did; he had lost.

‘Stick to the facts. Logic and reasoning rule over sentiment and feelings.’

He thought with himself and wore his cold mask. There was a lake. He wasn’t far from it. With his speed he could cover it in 35 to 30 seconds. The blow of the explosion will eventually help him to reach the lake faster and push him inside the water. He ran quickly towards it.

‘How clever, how clever is this arrangement’ he thought with himself. ‘A mixture of what I love in order to destroy me.’ Because was it what he always loved? No, love wasn’t the word. It was far too strong. His enemy used whatever he admired and crashed it with one single firework.

The bomb exploded at the ending, lifting him and throwing him inside the lake. The fire leaked his back as a reminder, he thought bitterly; of how cleverly did his enemy added the feature he hated the most with what he admired the most in a single harmony. The heat was disturbing and annoying. He felt his lungs were a void of air. He tried to reach upward to grab a breath for air. He raised his head out of water, gasping for a whiff of air.

Suddenly it were a blur of colours and darkness, he was in the hospital. He didn’t know what he did, said or how he looked like. He had no control on his body or reactions, apparently. However he could clearly remembered what the doctor told him.

“I’m quite sorry, sir. She is not here anymore.”

***

It seemed he was lost in his vertigo of memories that he didn’t notice the other man’s arrival, looking strangely sympathising although his face had no expression.   
He nodded at the man, not speaking a word. The man glanced at his rival and for the first time he saw an interaction happens between those pale eyes each one of them possessed.  He chuckled coldly, which earned a sharp glare from them both.

“Please, ignore me. I couldn’t help the amusement to see you both agreeing on a matter that is not a problem at all.”

They looked at him worriedly. He dismissed them with his hand. He sighed deeply and leaned his head to the wall.

“Are the paper works done with?”

The older man regarded him carefully. His umbrella rested in the crook of his elbow.

“Yes. Rest assured. I have made the papers for her fun-“

“The heart transplantation that the young man needed… was it done?”

The older man huffed exasperatedly and the other smiled mockingly.

“Yes. Not only her heart but every other part that could be necessary for any other human being was donated. I still don’t understand your concept of sharing her body with other people.”

He looked at the older man and smirked. How surprisingly the association with these two brothers was distracting. They simply knew what he required and they did not annoy or bother him with useless sympathies or niceties. He could show them at the very least that he was grateful by throwing everything behind himself.

“How quite surprising it is, the British government is more touched by this unfortunate incident than me.”

He joked, which earned him a raised eyebrow from the older and an amused chuckle from the younger man.

“Well, I do believe it’s a trait made our government to seem more appealing to you than any other country.”

He smirked. Ever so sly Englishmen, which everyone reminded him he was like one as an irony of fate; always had a quick and witty response right out of their sleeves.

“What’s the use of letting her body dissolute beneath her gravestone while her remaining parts could save other people from joining her in the other life? I do believe she would have agreed if she had a word to say about this matter.”

He said casually, unlikely anyone would ever think he was talking about his deceased wife and never-born child. The older man shifted uncomfortably in his place, clearly did not expects the bluntness in his speech. However the younger was looking at him curiously.

“You finished your first high-tar cigarette and you are still alive.”

“I wouldn’t say that. There’s yet to see the side-effects of my reckless action.”

The younger man smirked and regarded him with more attention. He was ‘deducing’ him or so as he always expressed.

“Why did the cottage explode?”

Because he knew that the younger brother can’t help it. It was the urge to know the mystery kept the man from doing things that would most definitely earn human reactions such as screaming and panicking from the older brother. He should answer it, he decided; or the man would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“It was made to be exploded. Beethoven’s symphonies always need a dramatic ending.”

He knew, if the music of Mozart was noble and gracefully fragile like a beautiful crystalline angle, Beethoven’s was a rebel, as wild as a hurricane or a thunder. 

“Which symphony was it?”

He looked at the wall in front of him, a smile gracing his lips. His enemy was truly clever in order to choose the music that had the name of his wife. How brilliant it was indeed.

“Fur Elise.”

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 1: Bagatelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is grieving still and he has a date tonight which he doesn't want to ruin it by his sulking. Looks like a certain reckless young man will provide him a good distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my turn! Yay! It's John's pose, first person. I tried my best, I hope it's not too ooc. :/  
> It's not as elegant and as mysterious as the pervious one. It's much more friendlier than that. :) Sorry if there is a jump of styles every now and then.
> 
> Bagatelle is a music piece done by Ludwig van Beethoven. (I know the last chapter was Beethoven but I can't help it since Hatter-kun is such a big fan of his. I wanted Chopin's 2nd sonata. ;_; )

 

“No, stay exactly where you are! Don’t move!”

I looked up and my heart twisted as I anticipated what would happen. Not again, please… not again!

“Alright…”

“Keep your eyes fixed on me!”

Stop it Sherlock. Stop it! You bloody git, just stop it!

“Please, would you do this for me?”

No, I won’t. So stop. Don’t do this ever again. I won’t take anything, no note and you won’t fall and you won’t die.

“Do what?”

Ah! Why can’t I control it? Why can’t I stop it from happening again and again?

“This phone call, it’s um… It’s my note. All people do, don’t they? Leave a note?”

Stop it! Stop it Sherlock! You never left notes for me. Why now? Do you want me to grieve?

“Leave a note when?”

“Goodbye John.”

Don’t say it. Don’t do it. Don’t say it. Don’t do it. Don’t say it. Don’t do it….

“No, don’t.”

Stop looking at me like that. Like you’re haunted, like when you were in Baskerville. Stop crying it doesn’t suit you. Don’t throw your phone! I still want to talk to you!

“No- SHERLOCK!”

Stop! Don’t fall!

“Sher-…”

Thud, what a light thud it was. Why did the world grow silent all of a sudden? Why darkness surround me? Hit, I got hit. The biker didn’t see me? I just fell why should it hurt so much? I have to get up, I should get up, and I must get up. Don’t you see, Sherlock Bloody Holmes; your name became a mantra for me.

“I’m a doctor, let me come through”

They throw me back, what do they know?

“Let me come through please.”

They push me away, how could they?

“He’s my friend, he’s my friend please.”

I’m practically begging, and they push me away. Why would they?

I grab his hand. No pulse. Oh God. No pulse. They grab my hand. They try to force me away. Just a little time is all I want. A little won’t hurt. Maybe a miracle happens. Please, Sherlock. I won’t mind a head in our fridge. I won’t mind if you shoot the walls. God, I don’t even mind if you took my laptop. Please don’t be dead.

She pills my hand off. Sherlock’s hand falls limply on the floor. Don’t do this please.

“Please, let me just….”

They turn him. My God! His face, his face… his silver blue eyes are wide open and his blood is all over his white pale face. What a haunted face.

“Oh! Jesus no! God no!”

He looks so dead. I can’t believe it. They pick him up and take him away, away…

 

“SHERLOCK!”

 

God, it’s another one. Another bloody nightmare reminds me of my 6 months ago misery. So much for an afternoon nap, isn’t it?

I get up. It’s the usual routine. Prepare tea, drink it, and go to pub with Mike. No, wait. I have a date tonight. Damn it. It’ll be another unsuccessful date. Claudia is reluctant enough as it is now. No need to push it any harder. I have to find something to cheer up.

Wait, isn’t this the voice of sirens? What happened? I look at window. Bloody hell! It’s the alley in front of my flat!

I don’t know what happens; suddenly I’m behind the infamous yellow tape of the crime scene. And if it isn’t Lestrade and Donovan standing there arguing with a very young man. When I see Donovan it sharply remind me of Bart’s incident. I lost my interest. I’ll return to my flat and just throw all of these out of my head.

“John!”

Bugger! Greg saw me. There’s no way to turn around then. He motions for me to come inside the scene. I duck beneath the tape and get inside.

“Hello, John. It’s nice to see you again.”

He looks tired and smiles wryly. It’s near Christmas and of course he would much prefer to be in shopping rather than a crime scene. Who would want to be in a crime scene in Christmas? Sherlock would.

“Nice to see you too, Greg. What happened here?”

“We have this young bloody lad and a corpse. They both were found together. He had a blunt hit with the back of a gun, which happens to be the same bloody gun the lad had in his hands and the poor fellow was shot with.”

That’s right, the lad was injured. His right temple was injured to be exact.

“Why don’t you just arrest him then?”

Greg gave out an exasperated sigh and looked at me like the whole world was against him.

“That’s what we’re trying to do but he goes about how oblivious we are as police and how our intelligence is lacking that we don’t see he is not involved! He says he just wants 10 minutes to look at the body of the man and prove us wrong.”

I looked at Greg like he was telling the stupidest joke I ever heard. I glared at him and said:

“Oh, let me guess… he wants to deduce the murderer, right?”

Greg looks hurt and continues with sadness flavouring his words.

“John, I’m serious. He’s truly doing this. I don’t even-“

“SHUT UP YOU FREAK AND GET INTO THE BLOODY CAR!”

Donovan screamed from above her lungs at the young unfazed man.

“And that’s not a way that a lady supposed to talk. We’re in the British society for the love of God. All I ask is a chance. Is it so hard for you to give it to me?”

The boy’s voice not very deep but has a character of its own. He looks quite calm and his face is filled with that significant emotion, boredom. He is bored?! What the hell?

‘As always John, you see but do not observe.’

Shut up Sherlock! I don’t need you in my head. I look deeper at the boy. Messy long chocolate brown hair that curls in the ends, strong sharp face, not very thin, chocolate brown eyes, pale and wheat coloured skin. He is wearing a long black overcoat, Maroon scarf around his neck in a tidy manner, and nice looking trousers and nicely polished black shoes. He is not very flashy but indeed stylish.

Involuntary my eyes drift to the dead man. His clothes aren’t anywhere near the lad. His clothes are casual, messy, and not very clean. He doesn’t have any personal grooming at all. Why would a man like this good looking young man kill such a retard?

‘Why indeed, John’

Shut up! Stop adding comments as you like.

“Bloody hell, Donovan! Keep your eyes on him.”

“I’m trying so hard but this freak won’t stop arguing me!” she snarled angrily. I couldn’t help but to glare at her. That word, ‘Freak’, did she had a passion saying it at any man who was slightly intelligent, it seems.

“I wouldn’t suggest that, dear inspector. How do you ask her to do her job while you who are a superior talking to your former army doctor friend?”

I gaped at that. How the hell did he know?! Greg’s expression was even more comical than mine. His eyes wide and mouth wide open.

“What- you? How…”

“Anyone can tell if they look hard enough.” He said with almost a flat tone. His eyes were looking at me with that strangely familiar curiosity.

“And?”

What had happened? How did it slip from my mouth?

“Pardon?”

“What else do you see?”

‘What else can you deduce? Entertain me.’

Stop talking in my head!

His eyes went bright. He came closer to look at my face. Suddenly he childishly pout bloomed in his face. He shook his head and sighed:

“Don’t do that! Drinking doesn’t solve anything but to present you a hangover in the morning and make your day hellish.”

Now that was impressive. How did he know I was drinking this lately?

“How can you prove that you didn’t just see me in the pub drinking?”

He looked at me with quite serious expression like I offended him. His eyes narrowed and he inhaled deeply.

“You’re doctor, an army doctor in fact. Was in the war 2 years ago and was resigned because of an injury” he spun around me and then tapped on injured shoulder. “Here! However it wasn’t enough. No, you had a psychosomatic injury. A limp hand won’t do. But a limp leg will! Yes, a limped right leg and I wonder whether it was ‘Jondy’ or ‘Sarbaz’.”

I flinched at hearing the second foreign word. I heard that in Afghanistan. People would shout that word when they saw us.

“And I realize it was Afghanistan thanks to your over expressive face! And you’re currently working in a surgery. And you’re renting the flat in that building” he pointed at my house. “However you’re a colleague, and very dear one at that but you never worked in New Scotland yard. You’re a doctor, so why?” his burrows furrowed in deep concentration. “An adrenalin junkie I would say. You enjoyed this but no longer do you anymore. Why?” He looked at me with those piercing eyes which were genuinely looking for answers and curious to know them.

“Sentiment.” He said simply and his eyes darkened. Something bothered him but he quickly washed it away. However I wasn’t sure if I was exactly the same. I guess my face was looking so horrible that Greg and Donovan visibly flinched. The way he spelled that word, god! It was the same way, the same bloody way when Sherlock would spell it.

“Funny thing, isn’t it? How do we let our sentiments wash us away? Your dear person had died, hadn’t they? The look of utter grief in your face makes me quite glad that I stopped before falling. Love could be a great disadvantage and it doesn’t need a hardship to see it on your face.” He said with a blank face, his tone becoming flat and dead. His eyes are losing their shine and interest all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said with sincerity. And he looked at Greg with wry face. “Just let me for 7 minutes. It is enough.”

“You read that at internet, right? I mean everyone know him.” Donovan said while pointing at me. I glared at her but she ignored me. “You try to pretend you’re a genius while you’re not. You’re just another freak who got bored and killed a person just to have fun. And you know what-“

“Stop it Donovan.”

Greg glared at her. I rarely saw that expression on his face. Pure anger was flowing.

“What?! Do you believe him?! He’s wasting our time!”

“Let us hear his evidence, Donovan.”

He glared again. And this time Donovan remained silent and said nothing.

“Care to prove your point, Mr?”

He looked at Greg with bewilderment.

“Ho- S-Schwarz. Claus Schwarz.”

“German?”

“What do you think?”

Greg looked at him and then rolled his eyes.

“Tell us evidence of your ‘deductions’, would you?” he quoted deductions with his hands.

“Ok. Look at his hands. The nails kept short and his hand is quite clean. He can be an OCD which it’s clearly not the case because he is not that strict about his clothes. And the first thing he checks for is injuries. His eyes follow them; stare at them with the need to wrap them before they’re infected, right?”

He turns and looks at me with a bright smile. Oh! He’s enjoying it. His face looks cheerful again and all that gloom disappears.

I nod absently and wait for him to continue. He doesn’t keep me waiting.

“Thus he is stiff. Look at his shoulders and the way he stands and keep his hair. He stands alarmed, like any soldier would stand. No doubt he spent enough years at army for it to become a habit in his everyday life. He was resigned however, or else he would stay in military for the rest of his life because he has high morals. How do I know that? The look of sadness and sympathy when he looks at the corpse is evident. So how was he resigned? Injury. It’s always an injury that makes you leave the army. Although he was shot in his shoulder it was not enough reason. He was suffering of a psychosomatic limp in his right leg.”

“How can you possibly know which leg it was?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re favouring it over the other. And you were in war, because psychosomatic injuries come from traumatic wounds and traumatic wounds happen in action and actions happen in wars. You show reaction to Persian Dari language so it was a war in Afghanistan.”

“You said I work in a surgery.”

“Of course you do! How can’t anyone see it? The state of your hand is quite a giveaway. Also normal people tend to do things they are best at. And in your case you’re a doctor, so eventually you work in a surgery. And you need that job, because everyone knows no one can afford a house in central London with just army pension.”

“You said he was our colleague but wasn’t working in the yard. How do you know?” Greg asked him like he always challenged Sherlock.

“You wouldn’t let anyone to just get inside the crime scene; it’s not a child’s play, especially someone who is so casual about crime scenes.”

“Casual?!” me and Greg cried in bewilderment.

“Look at you, the Yard; how stiff and seemingly professional working and how he is here, just purely out of curiosity. Now if we had a semi-alive person we would see his doctor face. I wonder how it would look like, though. However if he was in the Yard as well he would show the same dull reaction you show. Am I not right?” he winked at me with a sly smile.

“Fantastic.” I found myself praising him like I always praised Sherlock.

His smile turned more genuine at the compliment.

“The adrenaline junkie you mentioned. What about that?” Greg interrupted impatiently.

“Did you see how dazed he looked like when he first reached here? ‘His legs brought him’ people say. It’s obvious he enjoys the danger. Some people get themselves of in danger. He is clearly that type. Set aside he was a soldier, and usually soldiers cannot live without certain amount of danger in their life. Most of them usually end up suicide because they want to finish their dull lives. ”

Suddenly he stopped and his eyebrows furrowed. And then looked at me with eyes want to read everything.

“But there is the fact why you stopped. Was your dear person murdered? No. If that was the case, you were actually working with the Yard still.”

I felt a bucket of freezing water wash over me. He would try to deduce about Sherlock. Even if he isn’t an annoying bastard like Sherlock and actually shows sympathy but he can’t stop his curiosity to take over. He simply can’t fight that urge.

“Your dear person didn’t die for natural causes. People like to keep on the way of… Ah!”

“What’s with ah?!” asked Greg

“Stupid, stupid! How could I be so blind?! She was a detective!”

“He.” I said involuntary. My voice unlike always.

“He?!” he asked like I said the strangest thing in the world. Then he absently nodded. “So he was a detective, your friend. Not murdered, not dead from natural causes or accidents. Then what was it?”

He looked at me and then at Donovan.

“You seem to hold grudge against the Sargent as well. Why to hold a grudge when… dear lord! My God… I see.”

There was silent after that. No one dared to say anything. It was quite awkward, especially with the look Greg and I shared and how his shoulders became hunched over with guilt.

“What do you understand?” I dared to break the heavy uncomfortable silence. He looked terrified. Like a child who has done something bad and now his parents discovered.

“Suicide.” He looked at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I’m quite sorry. I had no idea. Damn me and my-“

I put a hand on his shoulders to stop him from rambling. He looks like he did something wrong and doesn’t know how to fix it. Sad, yes but he was more frustrated. It’s like he was Sherlock with an additional dose of social manners understanding. At least he tried to show sympathy. I smile at him wryly.

“It’s all fine.”

He looks bewildered than simply flashes a polite smile. Correction: He is a mixture between Mycroft and Sherlock.

“I’ll give you 5 minutes.” Greg simply states and looks at him waiting.

Claus, or as he said was his name; quickly moved to the body and inspected it closely. Suddenly while he was doing his job I noticed something.

“You can’t be the one killed the man.”

He turns and looks at me with utter surprise.

“What makes you think that?”

He asks waiting patiently. Even Greg looks like he wants to hear my answer.

“You use your left hand the most. So you’re left handed. You could not possibly be able to hit yourself with the right hand because the bruise on your right temple is a calculated one. Temple is a very sensitive place; you couldn’t simply risk it by hitting yourself with your right hand.

He grins at me. But then it turns to a sheepish smile.

“Perfectly sound deduction if I wasn’t ambidextrous.”

“Ambidextrous?!” Greg and Donovan shouted.

So he used both hands. However the ambidextrous people are originally left handed. So still his left is more practiced.

“Even if you’re ambidextrous you’re originally left handed so-“

He mumbled something under his breath and interrupted me.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m originally right-handed, ok?” he said with frustration and embarrassment. Although I saw no reason why should he be embarrassed? However it occurred to me, why the hell should he be an ambidextrous while he was right handed. It wasn’t like there was nothing provided for right handed! God knows it was exactly the opposite.

“Why are you ambidextrous when you were originally right-handed?”

He huffs and looks annoyed at me.

“I like to put my body in productive use. Why do I have two hands? If I just needed one hand God wouldn’t bother himself with creating another. So I should put it in proper use and use both of them instead of favouring one on another. And this year is the left-year so I’m mostly using left.”

Suddenly I cracked out of laughter. Oh God! This was the most stupid and convincing explanation. I bet if Sherlock heard that I would have to face him in a ‘left-year’.

However Claus looked hurt.

“I know. You people find it quite funny because you have no idea how increase the productivity and all you can do is complain about misfortunes and discuss about politics or weather. How can you understand a completely sound and scientific deduction about increasing the stamina by training the body parts stimulatory to avoid the most aches and sour muscled you suffer from?”

I laughed harder when I heard that. It was like when I was talking to Sherlock about the solar system.

“It’s not like you’re saying something funny or I try to offend you. You simply are too genius.”

His furrows suddenly opened. He asked me while he wasn’t very sure of himself.

“You think so?”

“Of course, it’s quite extraordinary.”

I said that to Sherlock while we were heading to our first crime scene together.

Claus smiled and looked at the body. Then he glanced at me.

“That’s not what normally people say.”

My heart shivered. Was he somehow quoting Sherlock’s words?

“What do people normally say?”

He smiled and looked at me.

“You’re a psychopath.”

Looks like Claus was suffering the same thing Sherlock suffered. But it didn’t faze him, too.

“Are you?”

I asked playfully. His smile grew wider.

“Not at all. A highly functioning sociopath, yes.”

Dear lord. Were all the superior minds (like Sherlock called himself usually) the same?! They’re avoiding people because everyone is basically ediot.

“Stop chattering. Did you get anything? Your time is up.” Greg was getting fed up with this.

“Not much.” Claus said while he was smiling.

“Do you need more time then?” Greg was getting impatient.

“No.” His smile only grew wider.

“Then?”

“The man is in his middle thirties. Divorced recently, however was seeing a woman this lately. Judging by his appearance he is mechanic, not normal cars, but tracks. He won the lottery so he was targeted by that woman to be murdered. However for some reason he was targeted by someone else. And that someone else accidently saw me as a witness and tried to involve me instead of bothering himself to murder two people. And that was his great mistake. This gun that he shot the man with was the type that spreads gun powder after it shoots. So if I was the murderer which I am not, I should have my shoes dirty which aren’t, so I’m innocent.”

“You’re making this up!” Greg said grudgingly.

“Look at his ring finger. There is a white line in contrast with his completely tanned finger which is caused by the tracks’ oil. However it’s getting smudged and started to get tan as well. Why would a man take of his wedding ring for considerable amount of time? He was divorced. Simple.”

“What about the other woman?” I asked this time.

“If you look inside his pockets you’ll find err… um. Those things… you know…”

“What?!” Greg shouted.

“Look inside his bloody pockets!” he buried his face inside his hands.

Greg looked inside his pockets and then suddenly cracked and laughed out loud.

“It’s not funny!” Claus matured while his face was red with embarrassment.

“My God! I don’t think I’ll ever laugh like this again!” and Greg giggled again.

“What is so funny, Greg?”

“He meant the bloody condoms inside the man’s pockets. God! How old are you?”

Claus face became redder if that was possible.

“None of your business!” he snapped looking away while pouting.

I couldn’t help but to laugh as well. Who thought that this little genius boy was actually alarmed by these things?

“How do you know it was a woman not a man?” Lestrade pressed. Claus’s face went blank and he paled considerably. For some strange reason I thought I saw the expression of ‘Does not compute’ on his face which made me nearly tear up with laughter. He looked lost and looking for words to form a right sentence but his face was changing colours rapidly and his tongue was tied. He buried his face in his hands before holding his index finger up asking us silently to wait.

“There was no lubrication, alas there’s a feminine perfume lingering on his body. I doubt he was err… well…”

He raised his face calmly with composer although there was a red colour tinting his cheeks. Lestrade was clearly amused that he got the young boy like that.

“I see your point, mate. So we should get the-“

Claus cleared his throat and said. “You should arrest the woman before everything.” He said curtly.

“You said he was shot by a man!” I exclaimed.

“True, but he was dead before that.” He said thoughtfully. “He was poisoned.”

“How do you know?”

“He bumped into me and then after he went inside that alley he crouched and was suffering from abdomen pain. If you noticed the smell of his mouth, it’s like parsnip. It’s Cicuta”

“Cicuta?” we asked, and he looked at us like we were nothing but mere fools.

“Cicuta is a poisonous plant as known as Water Hemlock, Death-of-Man, Poison parsnip. They contain a poisonous compound called Cicutoxin. It’s a potent neurotoxin that works over by stimulating the central nervous system. When their roots have been freshly pulled out of soil they look like parsnip. Make a soup out of it and feed it to your enemy to see them clutch their stomach out of pain, then suffer from kidney failure, shallow breathing, irregular heart beating, ending up with tremors and seizure and leading to death.” His eyes were beaming when he described that horrifying effects of poisonous plant.

“So when the man shot him…”

“He was already dead.”

“Then this woman as you said had won the lottery by now, which we can easily tell who she is.”

“That’s a wonderful deduction, detective inspector. Good luck with arresting the woman. All you need is to find the Cicuta plant and it’s all over.”

“But what about the man?!” Lestrade exclaimed. Claus looked at him sharply. He narrowed his eyes and wanted to say something but suddenly his phone rang. He fished his phone out of his pocket. Once he saw the ID caller his eyes screwed shot tightly as if he was annoyed with the phone call.

“Do you mind?” he asked with a sigh. Lestrade shook his head and Clause picked up the phone.

“Yes, how can I help you?” he started calmly an indifferent mask covering his emotions. He grimaced again and shook his head with exasperation. “Yes, I do realise that, but screaming like an opera diva won’t solve any of this matter at all.” He added sarcastically. The other line seemed to be speaking; he just rolled his eyes and tabbing his fingers at his thigh in a special way as if he was playing piano. Ah! So he was a pianist!

‘Excellent observation, John.’

God! If this continues any longer I might need another visit to Ella!

“Alright, I would be there shortly.” He clicked his phone and looked up to me and Lestrade. “You wouldn’t mind to show me around a bit? I’m new to London and don’t have enough knowledge of the streets.” He told us calmly and asked the address he was given which was the two alleys further up. Lestrade scoffed not liking to be treated like that. He however shown him the way and we followed him.

“Why are we not allowed follow the man?!” Lestrade pressed more.

“I’m afraid, detective inspector; this is not a part of your division.” Clause said mockingly and Lestrade glared at him.

Suddenly we heard a screech of a car. When we turned to look out, we found nothing but a slick black car waiting. It looked like the very same car that Mycroft used to kidnap me with it. The door opened and a man in suit came out.

“Dear Mr Schwartz, we were concerned. You realize that the evening tea is to be served about 2 hours.”

Claus sighed.

“I do. I was about to attend to the location myself, if someone wasn’t so eager in meddling around.”

We gaped at him. That car! And that man! And the way Claus was brushing them away as if they were nothing! Lestrade and I blinked at the ‘simple’ display.

“I’m free to go now, am I not?” He eyed Greg. Greg absently nodded and just looked at him while he was gracefully walking to the bright black car and got on it.

“I had fun! We should do this again sometimes!” he said cheerfully while waving his hand and disappearing into the car. Suddenly he poked his head out again.

“Good luck with the date, doctor! Try to avoid wearing those blunt jumpers.”

I looked at him as he disappeared again and the car went away. And at that very moment I was thinking, how much he reminded me to Sherlock and the fun I had when I was with him. I really wanted to see this young man again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think! I'm a beginner (although I doubt Hatter-kun is) so every single comment will help me to find out how to improve my writings!  
> Love you all~!


	3. On Hiatus temporarily

Dear Readers of this story

Hello

I had a little chat with my co-writer Chesh. We discussed that this story _needs_ a series of serious changes and we will resume the writing as soon as she improves her writing. (No offense is intended but your writing was actually terrible.)

Since after our little chat she seemed hurt and immensely offended, I decided that temporarily put this story on hiatus and instead put new stories I promised Chesh to publish. I may warn you from now, my style of writing is dark. Absolutely dark. But doesn't mean that it will have its own perks. I hope you will find them satisfactory enough.

With warmest regards

Mad Hatter

**Author's Note:**

> That $@^%!!!! I'm dying here! So much angst, sadistic bastard! 
> 
> Yes, this one was Hatter-kun's next time it's mine! And John will appear, yay! Mine won't be This Sad though!


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